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American Idol Season 8 Top 7

American Idol Season 8 Top 7 Disco Night Last week on American Idol, I was reallyreally drunk in a bar in Los Angeles when I was supposed to be watching Matt Giraud getting served his walking papers.  In a impressive display of karma's favorite dance move she likes to call Retribution, my passport was stolen by a pair of teal shoes, I caught strep throat from a baby who made three calls from my cell phone at 35,000 feet and Matt got a Get Out Of Jail Free card for the week.  Hell hath no fury like an overrated reality TV show scorned.

This week on Idol, it's casual Tuesday and we're stuck with Matt for yet another poorly-Timberlaked week.  The theme is disco and the weekly mentor is non-existent.  I got to wondering why and so I hit pause on the PVR, zipped to the airport and headed off to interview the Disco Greats of the world.

I got ahold of the Bee Gee's, but when they opened their mouths my eardrums shattered because I forgot that I had to open them underwater, otherwise I'd never hear the cryptic those crazy Merpeople had for me to decipher.  I went to Steve Rubell's grave, hoping to maybe channel his creepy ass spirit and ask it a few questions, but I arrived there to find that Mike Myers had beat me there.  He laid prostrate atop Steve's tombstone, mourning the death of his credibility as an actor.  I tracked down KC and the Sunshine Band but they were too busy trying to sell the Sunshine part of the Band in those obnoxiously useless little Ziploc snack baggies to high school dropouts to grant me an interview.  I gave up, hopped back on my plane, hit unpause on the PVR and the rest is history.

Public Displays of Cryptology Aside: At the grocery store the other day, a little boy in a buggy gave his mother a wide-eyed look just as I happened to be walking past them and said in his cute little boy voice, "Momma, what's Count Chocula?"  I stopped, turned, looked right into that boy's eyes and said, "Only the greatest greatness ever, son.  Greatness."  His mother mumbled under her breath and I walked on, knowing I'd saved one more soul from a lifetime of Kashi Go Lean wishes and Organic Soy Tofu Veggie Burger dreams.

Putting that in context aside: I'm not sure a group of children too young to know who Rainbow Brite was should be allowed to serve up hot, steaming disco to the masses.  Not at least without some sort of government issued license and the appropriate levels of liability insurance.

Anoop is singing I'm Every Woman.  Oh, no, Lil' Rounds is.  Holy let-down, Batman.  You walk out on a disco stage wearing more pink than Hello Kitty, you really should just own that shit.  Anyway, Lil Rounds grabbed the microphone and growled Uuuuh Uuuh Uuhh into it, then hooted OOOOO OOO OOOOO into but never actually managed to say one single word.  I, however, have one word for her, and that word is, "Timm-may!"  The judges told her it was "karaoke" and she said, "Nuh Uh!" and for once, I have to agree with her; it wasn't karaoke.  You have to say words in karaoke.

Jason Mraz Kris Allen is working hard for his money, so you better treat him right.  Paula is pretty sure he's a lumberjack but he's okay, even if he puts on women's clothing and hangs around in bars.

I went outside for a cigarette and failed in every way to make it back in before the commercial break ended, and so I walked in halfway through Danny Gokey's song which I instantly recognized as Dancing in September.  Yes, I am ashamed.  He sang it, whatever; but interestingly enough, the camera panned to Vince Neil, who was in the audience.  Which is just not natural.

I live to serve aside: If you ever find yourself in the position where you really, truly must have immediate access to some very hardcore, ball-and-gag style pornography, just pop in to your closest CrueFest concert and pay close attention to the Jumbotrons.  Or don't; there's no way you can ignore them, especially if you've absent-mindedly brought your pre-teen son along for the show.

Allison Irehetta tried to squeeze herself into Olivia Newton John's leather pants and tried to hold her balance wearing Shania Twain's white high-heeled boots and tried to undo everything Heart ever did for woman-kind by turning Hot Stuff into an audition for Vince Neil's next tour.  Much like love, heavy metal hurts. Ouchie.

Eddie Munster turned If I Can't Have You into the next teenaged angst-ridden tv melodrama theme song.  While he sang, Ryan waved his hands up and down around Paula's head and said, "Doodledooodydoo" and we were taken back 30 years to a high school auditorium-turned-dance-floor where a lone girl stood in a stupid purple bedazzled shirt her mom made but ran out of fabric halfway through so just laced the front of it up with some purple shoelaces dipped in glitter glue.  She stood, squinty-eyed, hunchy-shouldered in the middle of that floor, surrounded by silver and black balloons who's helium had run out.  Her gaze was fixed on the stage where the the high school prom king and lead in the boy's choir stood in his rented tuxedo with over-sized shoulder pads and his greased-back hair, and the girl's lip quivered.  Her hands came to her mouth and we saw a solitary tear roll down her cheek.  We felt her lonliness, her need to belong, her youthful longing for the one thing she could never have. As we panned back to the Idol stage, we took one look at Paula's purple top and tear-stained face and the collective, "Ah ha" was hear 'round the world. 

Slightly Hypocritical Aside: Two days ago, I sat in a movie theater and sobbed like a Paula over the Where the Wild Things Are preview.  Because it's going to be not disco awesome.

Audience Participation Aside: What do you think Simon listens to when he's getting it on?  I vote DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince, but the Mike Tyson album, not that first one.

Matt Giraud stayed alive last week and plans to do the same this week by bringin' da funk.  Now, here's the thing about me and disco: I can stomach two, maybe three disco songs because I'm just old enough to remember disco but just young enough to remember when The Smiths came along and bitch-slapped it into submission.  Staying Alive is one of the songs I actually like.  I also happen to be old enough to know that some things in life just go together, and some things don't.  Ozzie and Harriet?  Perfect.  Sonny and Cher?  Wiggy.  Peanut butter and chocolate?  Proof of the existence of god.  Red bull and vodka?  Get the fuck out of my bar.   Michael Jackson and the Bee Gees?  Matt, here's a handbacket.  Take your wannabe Thriller jacket and go to hell.

So shamefully politically incorrect it only gets an aside aside: Next up was Anoop Desai who sang some song in which the hook, which he repeated over and over again, was "Fill You Up" and all I could think was 7-11.  I am an asshole.  Also, Abu looks hot in pink.

And now, for the judges:

Number of times Randy vied for his job: Six.  He would like you, me and the fine producers of American Idol to know that this one of the most talented groups to every grace the Idol stage.  Too bad he's A) ohdeargod wrong and B) contractually obligated to say so.

Yoko Ono looked nice.  Or something. 

Number of things Paula said that I have to choose between for most awkward: 2. The only thing more uncomfortable than watching Brainy Smurf grasp at a metaphor is hearing her say, "As a woman..." to a 20 something guy with her stoned eyes and cougar lips.  Um, well...just ewww. 

Numbers of assholes Simon tore: A disappointing one, and just the guy in pink, of course.  Simon is coming to work in his undergarments and being nice; I think he's over this.  And maybe we are, too.

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I thought anoop looked hot too but in a suicide bomber sort of way... Thank you for my humpday smile.


"sobbed like a Paula" ...funniest thing I have heard all week. I sat in the movie theater and sobbed like a Paula too at Where the Wild Things Are.

Mr Lady

If you hadn't, I'd be seriously worried about the state of your soul.

Mr Lady

I'm glad you're willing to hop the Hell Express with me, MP. ;-)


I think this is the part in the season where I just stop caring about what happens bc I, once again, realize that no matter who wins there is no chance in hell I will listen to the subsequent crap that they release. Yet, I continue to watch the show for the high potential of train wrecky-ness and bc laughing at the misfortune of others is just all-american fun, dammit! Even Eddie Munster is fairly milque-toast & seriously corny for being one the "edgiest" Idols this season. This would have never happened if they'd just brought in Norman Gentiles like god intended. Now that's a sweatband wearing fool that I can get behind. For shame Idol, for shame.


I cannot believe you went 7-11, I just can't. So remarkably inappropriate that it can't be called anything else but hilarious. Glad you're back.

Oh. And.....ummm......why are you always doggin' the Crue, man?


Opening the Bee Gee's under water...Genius. And also, damn funny.

Lee of MWOB

Okay I am also an asshole. Because I swear to Jesus, I said the EXACT same thing to my husband when Anoop graced the stage. Is anyone gonna really SEE this comment? I hope not for the sake of my next 7-11 trip or when I run into Anoop here in Hollywood.


eliminating Anoop was like tearing off a band-aid, hurts for a second, but we had to get it over with eventually

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